The Survivors
by Seiberwing
Summary: A glimpse at life on Cybertron for two exfollowers of Megatron. Slash references.


(Post-Energon, slash references.) A glimpse at life on Cybertron for two ex-followers of Megatron.

**The Survivors**

"I'm sooooo tired…."

Icestorm stumbled in and slumped down onto an old rusty crate as Wrecker followed him into the apartment, sore arms hanging limply at his sides. As per their nightly ritual, Wrecker took a jug of energon out of their storage unit, set two cups on the table, and poured out a measured amount. He was always the one to do this, as Icestorm had a tendency to drink too much and forget that Frameshift kept them on a strict ration of twenty astroliters every ten days. This was enough to live on reasonably comfortably, but not when Icestorm drank half the jug in one sitting.

Icestorm sipped at his cup gratefully while performing the second part of the ritual with his other hand. He groped at his shoulder and removed the paneling that covered his Decepticon insignia as Wrecker did the same to himself. Both tossed the panels into a small box under the table.

It just didn't pay to be a Decepticon on Cybertron nowadays. At least during the first peace the Autobots had made the pretence of accepting their enemies as allies, honoring the truce made by Megatron and Optimus Prime. Now, most Decepticons who displayed their allegiance openly were either homeless, imprisoned, or working at some low-level slag job so filthy that the grease covered their insignias anyway.

Stories came in almost every week about a Decepticon who had been beaten or shot because of "threatening behavior", which was official-speak for any action that an Autobot with a grudge had taken a disliking to. This included giving dirty looks, accidentally stepping on feet, or simply the high and mighty crime of being a member of a faction that once followed Megatron.

Icestorm had caved to Wrecker's request that they keep wearing the symbols as a matter of principle, but he hadn't liked it. They weren't soldiers anymore, and the last thing they wanted was attention.

After all, despite their low stature and reasonably innocuous behavior, the two Decepticons were also two of the most wanted mechs on Cybertron. If their identities were known, any Autobots and probably a decent number of Decepticons and neutrals would be fighting for the right to kill them for crimes against Cybertron and Primus himself.

It had been a stroke of the purest luck that Icestorm had had a friend who had a friend who had a superior officer who knew about the neutral in Iacon that did reformats and didn't ask questions as long as he got paid somehow. Between the scant items for barter that that they could find in their subspace pockets two subspace pockets and the hard labor they did in Frameshift's workshop, they were gradually paying off their debt.

Despite the long hours and dirty working conditions, they would probably stay even after they became free mechs. Decent jobs were hard to find in this area, and Frameshift had even gone so far as to give them a tiny two-room apartment to stay in while they worked for him. The neutral took the rent and then some out of their salaries, of course, but that was to be expected.

The two Decepticons sat quietly for a moment, drinking their energon. Faint music could be heard from downstairs as Novaflare played his latest recording of alien music.

Novaflare was an odd but useful fellow employee of Frameshift who was always ready to lend them an extra bit of oil or cover up of their cleaning mistakes for little more reward then being able to catch the pair in mid-kiss and comment on what a cute couple they were. Icestorm took great care to make sure this happened at least once a week, in order to keep up their "adorable" status.

Icestorm finished his energon and replaced the cups in the drawer under the table. Wrecker stood up, wiping spare energon droplets from his lips and sucking them off his fingers. Even a few drops were too precious to waste on simple manners.

They both walked stiffly to the back of the apartment. Wrecker lay down on the recharge berth, and then scooted over to make room for Icestorm. The other mech curled up next to him, halfheartedly touching the edge of Wrecker's spark chamber. Neither one was really in the mood for a spark merge that night. They were too tired, and it hadn't been a particularly inspiring day.

"Did we luck out?" Icestorm said abruptly.

Wrecker propped himself up on one elbow and looked at him confusedly. "What do you mean, did we luck out? We live in a second rate apartment and work for a third-rate neutral at a fourth-rate job in a fifth rate part of town. Now if that's luck, I'd love to know what you consider unlucky."

Icestorm shrugged. "We had to pay Frame-stingy somehow. Was either work off our debt here or get out old bodies wrecked anyway. With us in them."

Despite sentimental attachment, Icestorm and Wrecker had destroyed any parts left over from the extreme makeover given them by Frameshift. They just couldn't risk being discovered, especially with their admittedly unusual features.

"I dunno," Icestorm went on. "I was just thinking about it today. About what might have happened. We could have gone with Megatron and—"

Wrecker slapped him lightly on the head. "Well, stop thinking about it. That's probably why you nearly forgot to call me Wrecker this morning. Stop thinking about the past, that's over and done with. We can't go back to Megatron or the army because they don't exist anymore, and I don't care if people say he's coming back in another ten years. He's dead, that's it. Now shut up; every moment you talk is a moment I could "

He lay back down again and rested his hand on Icestorm's cheek. "And at the risk of sounding like a total geek…I'd say we're pretty lucky."

Icestorm opened his mouth to say something snarky before Wrecker shoved the smaller mech on his back and kissed him. He liked having a mouth again. It made shutting Icestorm up a lot easier.

Regardless of the fact that they were both tired and exchanging grime at every touch, the next few minutes were spent gently caressing each other in a matter that those who would kill them would find quite surprising.

Icestorm finally backed off and curled up next to Wrecker again. "Night, Demo--I mean, Wrecker."

Wrecker sighed, put an arm around Icestorm's shoulders and rested his chin on top of his mate's head.

"Night, Snowcat."


End file.
